


Homecoming

by Croik



Category: Oboromurimasa | Muramasa: the Demon Blade
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/pseuds/Croik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having lost her memories and with only a few hints to guide her, Momohime strikes out into the world as Oboro, trying to come to terms with her frightening new skills and find a new place in the world (takes place after Momohime's second ending).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AleksanteriAgitshev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AleksanteriAgitshev/gifts).



> My assignment didn't have many details, so I tried to keep it as close to the spirit of the game as I could. I hope you like it!

Oboro awoke to the sound of rain.

The empty shack that had served as her nighttime shelter had remained remarkably dry, given the state of the wood. With the white fox that had become her traveling companion at her side, she had even kept fairly warm. As she sat in the open doorway, eating the last of her azuki buns, she stared out over the ran-worn valley and the tiny villages below. They looked like smudges of ink in the corner of a woodblock print and she already knew just what kind of people lived there.

"Maybe they'll be able to spare some tofu for you," she suggested to the fox as it stretched and yawned behind her. She gave it a corner from her bun and then began to pack her things. "I just hope it's not like the last time."

***

Oboro closed her eyes. She tightened her grip on the handle of her katana, letting its familiarity draw her senses into focus. All around her the townspeople whispered fearfully, but she let their voices fade to the back of her mind. Instead, she listened to the heavy, choking laughter of the beast in front of her. The scrape of his broad feet against the dusty road, the wet hiss of his breath, even the slapping of his rolls of fat painted a portrait on the backs of her eyelids of her target. She would strike at the neck. She could plant the ball of her foot in his belly for the proper leverage and cut just below his trembling jowls. It would only take one blow.

She would _not_ hit the crying young woman he clutched in one hand.

"Is there no one who will face me?" the oni hollered, turning in place as he soaked in the terrified murmurs of his audience. "Is there not one warrior among you?"

When he had turned enough to face Oboro, she opened her eyes and charged. As swift as the wind and as precise as its sickle she leapt onto the oni's protruding stomach. Her sword flew from its sheath, arching above her, slicing easily through fat and muscle and bone. The surrounding townsfolk didn't even have enough time to gasp in surprise before the oni was collapsing onto the street, headless, his captive spilling from his dead hand.

Oboro barely made a sound when she landed. She flicked her sword to clear the worst of the blood and sheathed it in one fluid motion. A quick glance to the woman showed she was safe--stunned and cowering in the street, but unharmed--and relief washed over her. The incident had passed as smoothly as all the others.

The reaction following her heroism was always the same. The townsfolk looked on in amazement, at first speechless. Some exchanged glances as a murmur began to rise, each confirming to the other what they had witnessed. Then all at once a cheer of approval rose, and the men and women rushed forward, helping the captured woman to her feet and gathering around Oboro with thanks and praise.

"Incredible! To have killed him with a single blow."

"I've never seen swordsmanship like that, especially from a young girl!"

"The rumors of Sayurihime must be true after all..."

The young woman whom Oboro had saved clasped her hand with both of hers. "Thank you," she said through tears. "Thank you; you saved my life."

Oboro smiled and squeezed her hands tight. "I'm very glad you're safe," she said, and the crowd moved in closer still, excited and in awe of her. It was always a little overwhelming, but Oboro accepted their congratulations with grace.

Her fox companion watched it all from a nearby rooftop. She knew it wasn't wise to speculate, but there were times she thought the creature looked proud, or kind of sad. Nostalgic, even. She didn't know what to make of it.

The woman she had saved was named Ako. Out of gratitude to Oboro's heroism she and her family invited her to stay with them at the small shrine they owned, and they ate and celebrated together. Even the fox was gifted a few bites of salted pork. But as always the case, eventually their curiosity outweighed all else, and they put their questions to her.

"I'm afraid I don't have much of a story to tell," said Oboro, Ako, her parents, and her younger brother listening with rapt attention. "Over a year ago, I woke with no memory of my life before. I was fortunate enough to meet an old man and woman who kindly took care of me. They gave me the name Oboro. It was only by chance that I came to know of my skill with a sword, and I cannot account for where or how I learned to wield it as I do." She smiled nervously. "To be honest, sometimes I feel as though my body is moving without me. For several weeks now I have been traveling the countryside, hoping to learn something about myself. But I...I haven't been very successful."

"We're sorry to hear that," said the mother, "but you've given us a miracle. And if the rumors are true, you've been a great 'success' to many others."

"Rumors?"

The young boy took over with a twinkle in his eye. "All the merchants are talking about it. They say Sayurihime killed a rampaging boar just two towns over. And a great snake-demon before that, and a whole army of oni before that!"

"And now, our own terrifying oni," added his father. "You are becoming a legend."

Oboro blushed. "It wasn't...my intention. Like I said, it's as if..." But she didn't want to frighten or discourage them, so she shook her head slightly and tried again. "I can't just turn away when monsters are hurting people. Some part of me feels as though by defeating them, I might find hints about my past."

"And I'm sure you will," said the mother. "But in the meantime, you are welcome to rest yourself here, for as long as you need."

Oboro accepted, for the night at least. Ako invited her into her own room, giving her a spare sleep robe and a warm mattress. It was the greatest luxury Oboro had enjoyed in days, and she hoped that she would be able to fall quickly to sleep. As they settled, however, she couldn't help herself.

"Ako," she said, her robe pulled up under her chin. "Have you ever heard of a man named Jinkuro?"

She had asked a dozen times before. She knew what Ako would say, if the answer was yes, but she continued to ask anyway. Her heart ached in her chest as she watched Ako's brow draw in tight. Despite knowing better, she prayed.

"Jinkuro?" Ako repeated. "You mean, the swordsman, Izuna Jinkuro?"

Oboro had to remind herself not to hold her breath. "Yes. I heard he was born somewhere near here."

"No one's really sure," said Ako. "Some say he was from Eshima, some Sakoro. Many of the villages in this area have heard of him."

Oboro swallowed hard and asked, "What was he like?"

"I only know what I've heard." Ako edged closer and lowered her voice as if telling a ghost story. "They say he won a hundred duels before he disappeared. He killed famous samurai and experienced warriors and fearsome creatures. He was a ruthless beast who would kill for any insult. Sometimes he even killed when he was bored. It's not a name you should mention lightly."

Oboro curled in more tightly and closed her eyes. "I know. I'm sorry to bring it up."

Thankfully, Oboro was so tired from her travels that she managed to sleep. She dreamt of a voice echoing out of the dark; a deep and sonorous vibration that saturated every muscle and ligament, guiding her. The voice filled and automated her. It was comforting and frightening, and when she woke up, the name _Jinkuro_ was in her mouth.

"What can I do, little fox?" she asked of her travel partner that morning while Ako prepared them breakfast. "I only have one clue, and it's the name of a murderer and villain."

The fox stared back at her, its head cocked to the side. Sometimes, she thought she detected understanding from it, but not today. Today it was just a fox.

"Maybe it's better not to know," she said, but when she reached to give her friend a pat, it ran away.

***

Oboro spent the next two days at the shrine. She helped wherever she could, washing floors and mincing vegetables. People from the town came to see her, congratulating her again on slaying the oni and offering food and other gifs. One bold young man gave her a pin shaped like a lily for her hair. For a time she allowed herself to enjoy the attention and didn't ask anyone else about Izuna Jinkuro.

She was outside sweeping the entrance when an old ronin came to call on her. The sword on his belt was rather handsome for the region, with lacquer on the sheath and bright blue cords. It didn't match the tattered appearance of his clothes, and Oboro knew at once to be wary. She had seen assassins cloaked in a guise of poverty before.

"My name is Hateda Saburo," he introduced, bowing. "I understand that you are the one they call Sayurihime."

Oboro straightened her back, and tested the weight of the broom in her hands. She didn't know if it would prove a suitable weapon, but she trusted that her body would know what to do with it, if the time came to find out. "I am," she said. "Though to be frank, I don't know where the name came from."

Saburo grinned, pushing back his straw hat so that he could get a better look at her. "Because you are as delicate as a flower," he said. "And in the language of flowers, the lily is vengeance. A beautiful young girl, fighting beasts to avenge the death of her lover, is the speculation. It makes for quite a story and they have to call you _something_."

She had heard the speculation before, but it still made her cringe. She didn't want to think that the name from her dreams was that of a lover, for many reasons. "My name is Oboro," she said to move past the subject.

His eyebrows rose. It was the first time that someone had responded to _her_ name and for a moment she forgot the threat he potentially posed. "Oboro," he repeated. "I thought I might never hear that name again."

"Do you know me?" Oboro asked, stepping closer.

"The villagers are saying that you killed Yagi-Doji with a single stroke. That is quite a feat, even for someone wielding the Oboro Style. A feat I would like to see for myself." He took hold of his sheath and flicked his thumb against the hilt. "I would like to challenge you to a duel."

Oboro tightened her grip on the broom. "I'm sorry. I don't duel."

"So I've heard. But I was hoping you would make an exception."

"No." Oboro shook her head and took a step back. "My sword is for helping people. I'm not interested in killing for sport."

Saburo laughed. When he stepped forward, Oboro stepped back again. "Convinced already that you'll defeat me, are you?"

"Please," said Oboro, nearly in full retreat. She could hear the voice from her dream creeping up her bones; she _was_ convinced that she would win. The voice inside her would make sure of it. Even with just a broom, she knew that if he attacked, her body would act and a man would be dead. The thought made her cold. "I don't want to fight."

Saburo clicked his sword out an inch, and Oboro shuddered, looking desperately for Ako or her family to intervene. She remembered the reverent fear in Ako's voice, telling ghost stories, and she wanted to run. The fox was watching her from a stand of trees. Foolishly she imagined that it was about to help.

"That's enough."

Oboro jumped, thinking that maybe she'd lost her mind and her fox had spoken, but then a men stepped out of the woods behind it. Her stomach clenched at the sight of him and she wasn't sure why. She didn't recognize him. He was tall, and well-toned, and had sleek, dark hair pulled back from a handsome face. His sword was even finer than Saburo's, though thankfully he kept his arms in his robe as he joined them on the path.

"Forgive me for testing you in this way," the man said, though Oboro didn't relax until Saburo stepped back and tucked his own hands away. "But I was afraid that terrible spirit still had its hold on you. I thought..." He let out a sigh and looked relieved. "Well. Thank goodness I was wrong."

Oboro looked between the two men, her heart beating fast in her chest. "Do you know me?"

The man frowned, and when he came toward her, she flinched back, gripping her broom. "Momohime," he said gently. "It's me." When that failed to reassure her, he added, "I am Yagyu Yukinojo. Do you not remember me?"

Oboro glanced away just in time to see the fox disappearing into the woods. "I..." She looked behind her and found Ako and her brother watching from the shrine, curious and concerned. "I'm sorry, but I do not. I don't remember much of anything..."

Yukinojo approached again, and she didn't retreat. Gently he freed the broom from her trembling hands. "Then perhaps we should have a conversation," he said.

***

"Even when I first heard the rumors of 'Sayurihime' I knew it had to be you," said Yukinojo as he and Oboro sat together. The pond at the rear of the shrine was not the most elegant nor private location for such an important talk, but Oboro found its stillness a welcome comfort. Even the birds and frogs were respectfully quiet for them. "Only you could be so lovely and so lethal. I followed the stories as best I could, but it was not until you killed Yagi-Doji only days ago that my men were able to pin down reliable information. How lucky we are, that I arrived before you had moved on."

Oboro watched him as closely as she could without being rude. "I am sorry, that you went through so much trouble to find me. I didn't even know anyone was looking."

"Do you truly not remember any of it?" Yukinojo searched her face so intently that it made even her doubt. "Your family in Mino? The terrifying ordeal you went through?"

"No--none of it." Oboro swallowed her fear. "Not even my own name."

She thought she saw relief in his face. She hoped she was mistaken. "Your name is Momohime," he told her. "Your father governed Narukami-han in Mino Province." He took her hand and squeezed tight. "I am sorry to have to tell you this way, but he is dead, as is your elder sister. You are the last of your clan."

Oboro held her breath as she absorbed the news. It was a shock, but a dull, distant kind of shock, to mourn a family she didn't know. More than that a deep and uneasy guilt, and she couldn't help but ask, "Why don't I remember?" She pressed her free hand to her chest, where her heart was beating a painful staccato. "What happened to me?"

"You were the victim of a spirit," Yukinojo explained. "The ghost of a man who possessed you, and drove you to do terrible things. I followed you as best I could--I even sought a priest in hopes of exorcising it--but it was too much for me. I lost you." He lowered his eyes in regret. "I thought you lost to that fiend. Your memories may be a high price to pay, but I am relieved enough to have found you alive and yourself."

"A ghost..." Oboro stared into the water, and in its gentle ripples thought she saw an outline of flame, like a spirit on the wind. It was mesmerizing. "Izuna Jinkuro."

Yukinojo straightened. "You _do_ remember?"

"No, I..." Oboro shook her head and took a deep breath to settle her nerves. "His name has haunted my dreams. Wherever I go, they tell me he was a villain. That he attacked from behind, that he left men maimed and dishonored, that he paid none of his debts and--" she blushed "--was careless with women. I've heard not one kind word about Izuna Jinkuro."

Yukinojo let out a quiet huff. "I am sorry, Momohime, but you're not about to hear one from me, either. He killed his own master in cold blood, and tried to kill _me_ \--using your own body, no less. I know not how you were able to rid yourself of that beast, but I am grateful."

Oboro continued to watch the pond waters sway. "As am I," she said.

Yukinojo gave her a moment to her thoughts. His hand was hot around hers, faintly moist with sweat. It was familiar and alien to her at once, and it came as a relief when he let her go. "Momohime," he said gently. "I know this must be overwhelming to you. I will do for you whatever I can, but in the meantime, I would like for you to come back with me to Edo. There is a place for you there." He smiled. "If nothing else, there will be fewer demons for you to fight."

He was looking to get a smile from her, and she managed to oblige, though only barely. "You are too generous, and I am thankful, but I don't understand. Why do you do so much for my sake? What am I to you?"

"You..." Yukinojo leaned back, blinking. "Excuse me. I should have reminded you sooner." His embarrassed smile was so handsome Oboro couldn't help but blush. He lowered his voice. "I am your fiancé."

***

"Fiance! Oh Oboro, how lucky you are!"

Oboro hushed Ako as they laid out bedding for the night, but Ako would have none of it. "What is the matter?" she asked immediately. "He's such a fine, handsome man. And of the Yagyu clan--they have the favor of the Shogun, you know. And to think, you owe him finding you to Yagi-Doji. Maybe that will aid in his atonement, in the afterlife."

Oboro worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she slipped into her sleeping robe. "It's just so much, so fast," she said. "Only a few nights ago I was sleeping on the side of the road, with..." She glanced around her, only to remember that she hadn't seen her usual fox friend since Yukinojo's appearance. "I don't know what to think. I don't even know if what he's said is true."

"It would be quite a story to invent. How could he have known you would have no memory of your past life?"

She moved to close the outside door, and just as the panels slid shut Oboro thought she saw a glint of fox-like eyes watching from the tree line. "He would be quite a mastermind indeed if he came up with that story on the spot," Ako went on as she returned. "And even if he did, it's an offer that any woman would accept."

"I know," said Oboro. She curled up in her bedding and blew out the light once Ako was settled as well. "But there's still so much I _don't_ know." She sighed. "I wonder if he would take me to Narukami. I should at least visit my family's grave..." She burrowed in tight. "My sister..."

"Oboro." When Oboro peeked out, she saw that Ako was smiling. "You are a very strong girl," she said. "I wish you all the luck in the world."

Oboro smiled back. For some reason, those simple words filled her with greater confidence than Yukinojo's promises.

That night, she dreamed just like she always did, but the voice was different. It rattled through her bones, deep and chaotic, with a conflict she had never experienced from it before. She could feel her hand clenched around her sword, guiding her blade toward the handsome throat of her mysterious fiancé. She felt the thrill of conquest and the fear of helplessness. She remembered sand pitched up from a rain-battered beach, her entire body an expertly crafted tool bending to the will of that voice inside her. For the first time, she felt as if it were trying to speak to her.

"Momo," she said when she awoke, forcing another name off her tongue. "My name is Momo."

***

In the morning, Momohime dressed, collected her small number of personal things, and went out back to the pond. "Are you out there?" she asked to the trees. "I'm leaving, today. You've followed me all this time, but now... I've never asked you to come with me, but..."

The white fox crept out of the woods. It stared at her with wide black eyes, and Momohime's arms prickled with goosebumps; that day, she could see more behind its sly gaze. "If I ask all my questions, will you answer?" she wondered aloud. "You know me, don't you?"

"Momohime?"

She turned and bowed in greeting as Yukinojo approached with Saburo in tow. "Good morning," she greeted. "I hope you had a pleasant night at the inn."

"Indeed we did." Yukinojo motioned for her to join them. "The priest has been kind enough to offer us breakfast before we leave." He looked past her. "Were you speaking to someone?"

"No." When Momohime glanced back, the fox was gone again. "I was just enjoying the fresh air."

Ako's family prepared for them one last feast, thanking Momohime all over again for her brave act before sending them on their way. As soon as they left the grounds of the shrine they were joined by more men--not samurai, but hard-angled men in simple clothing that barely showed the outlines of their concealed weapons. Momohime kept Ako's words close to her and would not be intimidated.

"My Lord Yukinojo," she said as they drew closer to the village. "I know I agreed to come back with you to Edo, but...is there no way that we could visit Narukami first?"

Yukinojo frowned. "I am afraid there would be nothing for you there."

"I would like to see my family's gravesites," Momohime pressed. "To make an offering and pay my respects."

But Yukinojo shook his head. "I don't think it wise," he said. "All of Narukami thinks you dead. If you were to appear, it would raise quite a stir. And..."

Momohime watched him carefully. "And?"

He continued to stare straight ahead, and it worried her. She could feel the vibrations of the voice in her belly. "It would not be safe," he finished at last. "At the time of his death, your father had been disgraced for the treasons he committed. The magistrate who rules Narukami now is a stubborn, senseless man. I fear what he would do, if he knew you were alive."

Momohime felt her hand tighten around her sword sheath, and she forced herself to release it. "My house is shamed?" she asked quietly, quaking around the words.

"I am sorry. If not for that despicable Izuna, things might have been different..."

Momohime did her best to hide her doubts. "If that's the case, I couldn't bring myself to hold you to our engagement. For a man of such high standing in the Yagyu clan to marry a penniless girl from a disgraced family..."

"Momohime." Yukinojo stopped walking in order to face her, his eyes bright with sincerity. "That matters not to me. Even if you never remember your past, I intend to prove to you all over again that I am the man for you."

Momohime blushed, and walked a little bit closer to him as they continued down the path. But she still felt hesitant to trust. The villain in her soul had made a cynic of her, and she didn't know whether to despise him or be grateful for it.

In town, Yukinojo offered to prepare a palanquin for her, but she declined. She would have preferred to walk, as she had been doing her entire journey, but in the end he insisted she at least ride. Sitting closed-legged atop Yukinojo's rusty gelding, she managed to balance herself comfortably while still looking halfway dignified. Though she had no memory of riding a horse, her body did. She longed to snatch the reins from Yukinojo and spur her mount over the hills, down through green valleys and dark forests. She might have even been hoping for a beast to leap from the underbrush, just so her "new" fiancé could see the unruly creature he was inviting to his home and bed.

More than that, she wanted to know where the fox had gone.

They traveled through the day, Yukinojo leading them on foot with several of his soldiers alongside, the rest and Momohime herself on horseback. The men were pleasant enough company, curious and attentive to her, save the only one that had been properly introduced: Saburo. Yukinojo said that his offer of a duel had been made only as a test, but as they rode on she noticed Saburo spending more and more time watching her with an intense look. He brushed his fingertips many times over the hilt of his sword. It made her restless.

When the sky began to grow orange, Yukinojo stopped them in the village of Kasuya to spend the night. As he attended to gaining them lodgings and his men split up to investigate the area and tend the horses, Momohime found herself alone with Saburo. He had taken to glaring at her openly, and finally she felt confident enough to meet him. She knew that she could defeat him, if she had to. Whether she could do it without killing him was another matter.

"Excuse me, Sir Hateda," she said as they stood together just outside the inn. There was a cool, upward tilt to the air that suggested more storms to come. "But have I offended you somehow?"

Saburo faced her, and though his arms were tucked in his robe, she could almost feel his hands itching for his sword grip. "I still want that duel," he said.

Even having expected as much, Momohime was not any better prepared with a response. "Did you know me before?" she asked, hoping to stall so that Yukinojo would return. "Or did you perhaps know Izuna Jinukuro?"

"No. I did not." Saburo pushed his hat back and slid his arms into the open. "But I have heard enough tales to know that he was a beast among men, and wielded a sword I very much would like to see." He took hold of his sheath. "My own sword will not be satisfied until I do."

Momohime could not speak for her sword, but she was very familiar with the eagerness of the thing inside her. She tried to ignore it, but when Saburo clicked his sword out, she realized that the swell of unease in her chest was a warning, not an enticement. The sword that she had once thought fine seethed with a dark an unruly aura, reminding her a little too much of Yagi-Doji's rotten breath. Something otherworldly was coiled inside the well-crafted blade, and she could sense echoes of it within its master.

Momohime stepped slowly away from the entrance to the inn. "That sword," she said carefully. "Where did you get it?"

Saburo followed her example, until they were standing in the street, slowly gaining the attention of the evening passers-by. "I claimed it in a duel," he replied, and when he drew, the hiss of the metal seemed to slither across her skin and raise goose bumps. "The man I slayed had given it the name Graceful Crane." The corner of his mouth twisted in a despicable grin. "Is it not beautiful?"

"It is." Momohime braced herself and breathed deeply. People were stopping to stare. "But I don't believe you're meant to have it."

"It wasn't the story of Yagi-Doji alone that drew me to you," said Saburo, as if he hadn't heard her. "The Crane showed me the way. It wants to fight you as much as I do." He took up a readied stance. "If you are the Sayurihime the stories claim, you will not refuse me."

"I don't claim to be anyone." But Momohime could see that there was no reasoning with him, and she prepared herself as well. "I'm not even certain who I am. But even so it seems I have no choice but to fight, wherever I go."

She heard Yukinojo exit the inn, but there was no time to look for his expression; Saburo was already attacking. He was swift and he swung with power, but Momohime's sword leaped from its sheath with the strength and speed of lightning. Her blade flashed along his steel and she pivoted on her toes, diverting the attack and twirling herself effortlessly out of harm's way. A counter-strike would have been so easy, and her body nearly flowed directly into it, but she held back. Even when Saburo came at her again she parried and retreated, fighting and relying on her instincts at once.

"Fight back!" Saburo shouted, scowling in frustration. "Fight me!"

The onlookers gasped and murmured. Yukinojo reached for his sword, but Momohime broke from Saburo again and motioned them back. "Please, don't interfere!" she called, saving her longest look for Yukinojo. "Please, I'm all right."

Yukinojo released his sword. As he stood watching, Momohime could see that despite his tense expression he was very eager to see the outcome. They were all waiting to see the lethal beauty of the Lily Princess.

Momohime took a deep breath. When Saburo attacked again she held her ground. She recalled each of the fights she had been in--the monsters, the bandits, the beasts--and tried to concentrate on every movement of her body, every sway and clench. She had so often played the part of conduit, the Oboro had become part of her. She didn't have to be an observer. Her body was still her own.

"You don't control me, Jinkuro," she whispered, her sandals kicking dust from the street as she charged straight into Saburo's swinging blade. "Oboro is mine, now."

Their blades clashed, and in the vibrations of metal on metal Momohime saw a thousand possibilities. She knew her limits and Saburo's, knew the dozens of ways she could slip past his crude defense and end his life. But she chose a different path. With a flick of her wrist she was able to slide under Saburo's swinging arm, with a quick turn and a strong elbow she was able to break his grip on Graceful Crane, and with the full force of her shoulder she was able to throw him onto his back.

The sword hit the ground. Momohime could have sworn it gave a mournful cry as it was separated from its owner. Saburo hit a moment later, blinking and cursing, dirt on his robes. The surrounding men and women held their breath until Momohime skidded to a graceful halt, and then they began to chatter excitedly. It wasn't quite the roar of approval she received after felling monsters, but for once not a drop of blood had been spilled, making it her greatest accomplishment.

"It's mine," Momohime said under her breath as she straightened up. She sheathed her sword and couldn't help but smile as she turned toward the inn. Yukinojo was watching her, and though she hoped for pride what she saw in his eyes was cold distrust. She might have even considered it jealousy. When he realized she was watching him in turn, his expression lightened. He even grinned, but it was too late: she had seen the heart of him.

"Momohime, well done," Yukinojo congratulated as he stepped down from the inn's entrance. "As beautiful as deadly as I remember. As terrible a fiend as Izuna was, he has given you quite a gift." He looked to Saburo, who was just pulling himself up onto his knees. "Though I do not know if I should be grateful you spared his life."

Saburo rubbed his face, and when he looked up he seemed surprised to find everyone staring at him. "Sir...?" He took in Momohime's mussed appearance, the accusing eyes of the townsfolk, and Yukinojo, glaring as he retrieved the fallen sword, and grimaced. "Sir, I..."

"Graceful Crane," murmured Yukinojo as he hefted Saburo's weapon. He swiped it through the air, testing the weight and balance. "An exquisite sword. I recall how eager you were to test it, once you acquired it." His eyes gleamed with lethality. "A feeling I very much understand now."

Saburo arranged himself into a more presentable bow. "Lord Yukinojo, forgive me. I don't know what came over me--I was--"

"Raising your sword against my intended wife?" Yukinojo interrupted. He started toward Saburo, his knuckles white around the sword's grip. "In the streets, like a common ruffian!"

Momohime felt that same rise of ill ease, more than the anxiety the surrounding townsfolk were emanating. Yukinojo's flared nostrils and dilated pupils reminded her again of Yagi-Doji. Before he could get within striking distance of the apologizing Saburo, Momohime stepped between them.

"Lord Yukinojo," she said, taking his wrist. "Please. Let me have the sword."

Yukinojo tensed, and when she reached for the sword, he flinched back, his face hard and angry. A moment later he seemed to come to his senses. "Perhaps one of you should explain what this is really about," he said, and though showing reluctance, he handed Graceful Crane to her.

Momohime prepared herself, but the moment she took the sword in her hands, she knew she had no reason to fear it. It reeked of vengeance and wrath, so unlike it's lovely name, but it had already lost to her, and it knew it. It was in awe of her, and she felt an unsightly degree of pride knowing it. "Sir Hateda," she said. "Please give me the sheath for this sword."

Saburo handed it over without question, and once the blade was hidden, its awful stench dissipated. Momohime waited a moment more to be sure and then faced Yukinojo. "There is someting different about this sword," she said. "Something unclean. I think it influenced Sir Hateda into his strange behavior and that it should not be in anyone's possession."

"Anyone," Yukinojo echoed. "Including you?"

"It will be safe, with me." Momohime tucked Graceful Crane into her belt, along with her own sword. "It is no match for the Oboro."

"I have the feeling that few things are," said Yukinojo. He motioned for Momohime to join him in returning to the inn. "Come. The room is prepared for us. We can discuss this further over dinner."

Momohime glanced away from him, and in doing so she noticed a flash of white darting behind the line of yet-staring townsfolk. It stopped for only a moment, allowing her to recognize it, before racing on, toward the road that lead out of the village. Momohime was tempted to follow, but then Yukinojo touched her shoulder, and she went with him instead.

Dinner was a far fancier affair than Momohime was used to. She had depended on street vendors and the generosity of strangers for a long time, and almost didn't know what to do with the fine food Yukinojo ordered for them. He promised more of the same and then some, once they reached his residence in Edo. "You will have servants to attend you," he assured. "A handsome room, beautiful kimono. You will want for nothing." He eyed Graceful Crane, placed against the wall alongside his own weapon. "Even swords, if you like."

"You're very kind," said Momohime, but she could barely imagine such a life. She couldn't stop thinking of the fox.

When supper was finished, and Yukinojo had left Momohime to prepare for sleep, she slipped out. With both swords in her belt and a small lantern to guide her, she crossed the then empty and darkened street to the outward road. As she had hoped, the fox was there. With a flick of its white tail it darted down the path, and Momohime hurried to follow. Even when it strayed into the woods she continued after, under low-hanging branches, over logs and through thickets. Her heart beat fast as she raced into mystery, and came out on a ragged hilltop, the countryside spreading out before her in a moon-bathed panorama.

The fox stopped, and with a quiet yip it leaped into the lap of a woman seated at the hill's edge. She was beautiful and otherworldly, with long white hair that cascaded in waves down the back of her elegant kimono. As she stroke the fox's long back she looked up, and she offered Momohime a slow smile. "Greetings, my little peach."

Momohime lowered herself to her knees next to the woman, her eyes wide with wonder. "Who are you?"

"My name is Yuzuruha," she introduced. Her broad, fox-like ears twitched between her long locks. "And this little pup you have been looking after is Kongiku. My sister."

Momohime swallowed. "I think it has been her looking after me," she said honestly. "And doing a fine job of it."

"It isn't you she serves, but the spirit she believes to be inside you." Yuzuruha tsked quietly. "Poor little fool. She would follow even a shadow of his ghost until the ends of her life."

"Izuna Jinkuro." Momohime looked to the fox and back. "Then you know what happened to me?"

"I do, and I will tell you." Yuzuruha lowered her gaze. "In exchange for the sword."

Momohime clenched her grandfather's sword closer, but then she realized that she meant Graceful Crane. "This sword has an ill aura," she said. "What will you do with it?"

"Protect it," replied Yuzuruha with conviction. "That sword was forged by the legendary Muramasa. Misfortune and death will follow it wherever it goes, but my Lord Inari-Myojin has the power to purify it. Leaves the sword with me, Little Peach. It will be safe."

Momohime had heard many stories of the tricks of foxes, but as she stared into Yuzuruha's face, she could not see or sense any reason to doubt her. She freed the sword from her belt and placed it on the ground between them. "I trust you. Now, please."

Yuzuruha laid her hand over the sword for only a moment, her eyes narrowed as if judging it. "This sword is still young," she murmured. "It has not had time to breed the hatred of its brothers. You were lucky to find it so soon." She met Momohime's gaze. "But then, I suspect it won't be the last Muramasa to cross your path. Evil is attracted to the Oboro Style, and visa-versa."

"Please," Momohime said again. "Tell me what you know."

Yuzuruha straightened up and went back to petting Kongiku, who looked quite content. "It was Kongiku that knew Izuna Jinkuro better than I," she began. "I only knew him as a villain, a scoundrel, a blasphemer. As his life was drawing to a close, he fought desperately to lengthen it. While trying to take possession of Yagyu's body, he mistakenly took yours instead, and used it to commit audacious crimes." Her eyelids drooped as she indulged in some unwelcome memory. "He dared to enter Takamagahara itself. He killed my champion. He nearly cost you your life. The world ought to be relieved we are rid of him."

Momohime sagged into her shoulders. "Did he also destroy my family?"

Yuzuruha scoffed. "You have the Shogun and his allies to thank for the fall of Narukami," she said. "And your beloved Yagyu." Momohime flinched. "Yes, it was he who acted on Tokugawa's behalf to have your father and sister killed. It may be that he plans to give you the life he promises, paid for by your family's blood. It will be up to you to decide if a life as his pretty wife is worth that."

Momohime shuddered in her skin, though deep down, she couldn't say she was surprised. "He must be grateful," she murmured, "that I do not have my memory." She licked her lips. "Will I ever gain it back?"

"Who can say?" Yuzuruha shrugged. "Having it will not make life easier. Having lost it for the power you now possess may be a worthy trade for everyone involved."

Momohime considered reassessing her declarations of trust from only a moment ago. "And _are_ you involved?" she asked carefully.

Yuzuruha smiled, fixing Momohime with a long and measuring look. "I have been charged with a task," she admitted at last. "My master would see all the cursed blades of Muramasa sealed and destroyed, to spare humanity their wrath. I am not wholly equipped to ferret them out myself, but it seems--" she patted Graceful Crane "--you already have a talent for it. Perhaps you would be so kind as to take the place my previous champion has vacated, and assist me in hunting out these swords. And, of course, the monsters and beasts you are just as skilled at defeating."

"You mean..." Momohime frowned. "To do as I have been?"

"Yes, of course. So you see, it's barely an inconvenience at all." Yuzuruha nodded as if pleased with herself. "And I can help you. I will keep you supplied, I will provide you support. As Kongiku is sure to do." She gave the fox a scratch behind the ears. "Unless, that is, you prefers the comforts of Yagyu Yukinojo and his shinobi."

Momohime turned her gaze to the countryside. The moon had hidden, leaving the hills and rivers masked in shadow. "Thank you," she said quietly, "but I have been managing well enough on my own."

"I'm sure you have." Yuzuruha shrugged again. "Whether or not you accept my help, Momohime, if you find another of those swords, I will come for it. We just may be destined to work together." She let Kongiku go, who hopped out of her lap and settled in next to Momohime. "I wish you happy hunting." She stood.

"Wait." Momohime snagged the hem of her kimono. "Please, one more question."

"Yes?"

"It's just..." Momohime let go so she could fold her shaky hands in her lap. "Jinkuro. If he really did take over my body...what happened to him? How am I here now?"

Yuzuruha stared at her for a long moment, her expression blank and unreadable. At long last, she offered a quiet sigh. "You were dealt a fatal wound," she admitted. "The both of you were in danger of falling into Hell, and so he sacrificed himself. He performed a Soul Fusion that gave you back your body at the cost of his soul."

"The cost of his soul..."

"He surrendered his existence," Yuzuruha elaborated. "Only the echoes of Izuna Jinkuro remain now, in you, and only what he meant for you to have. His soul itself no longer exists in this world or any other. Fear not, Little Peach. He has no power over you, and never will again."

Momohime lowered her head. She did not look up again until Yuzuruha was gone, Graceful Crane with her, leaving Momohime alone with Kongiku on the hillside. It took only a slight prodding to get the fox into her lap, and she hugged it close, trying to put her errant thoughts in order.

"Izuna Jinkuro sacrificed himself for me, so that I would live," she murmured. "But if he's gone...why do I still feel him? Or have I been fooling myself?" She touched a hand to her heart. "Could it have been only me all along?"

Kongiku stared up at her, her tiny black eyes deep with wisdom. "Oh how I wish you could tell me," said Momohime. "There's still more to learn, I know there is. And I bet you would tell me if you could."

But the fox only leaned into her hand, leaving Momohime with her questions.

***

Momohime awoke in a small shack on the roadside.

She had not returned to the inn. She imagined that Yukinojo had by then noticed her absence, and was likely looking for her. She hoped that no monsters or thieves would appear to test her mettle before she could get far enough away that no rumor would help him rediscover her too soon.

All day she traveled, Kongiku at her side, walking the road and taking shortcuts through the hills. By evening she had reached the town of Sakoro, nestled in among the rice paddies. The people were simple, friendly folk who greeted her as if she were no outsider. At one end of the town stood an old dojo, its planks and screens weathered with no sign of recent repair. None of the townfolk would answer questions about it, but when Momohime stepped onto the first creaky floorboard, she didn't need their answers. She knew where she was, and who had been there before her.

As night fell, she purchased a small sack of red bean buns and climbed a nearby hill, so that she could overlook the little hamlet that had been Izuna Jinkuro's home. She listened to the grasses sway and felt the wind of her face, warm with a promise of heavy air to come. Summer would be on them soon. The flower-laden valleys would burst with vibrant green and the sunsets would grow hot and orange. The world would continue on as it always would.

And as Momohime sat on the hill, eating her dinner and offering the occasional bite to Kongiku, she felt peace ease into her weary heart. A sweet and inspiring nostalgia crept all through her like a welcome guest, and she allowed herself to be swept up in a sensation of familiarity and longing. Izuna Jinkuro had sat just here, she thought to herself. He had looked out over the valley and dreamed of a life more than what he had, full of danger, adventure, and fame. He had been a foolish and greedy child, and he had paid for it, but _she_ had brought him home. It wasn't merely her imagination. He was grateful.

Tears welled in Momohime's eyes. Despite all the terrible truths that surrounded Izuna Jinkuro, his joy at the unexpected homecoming gave her hope. He had given her more than a terrifying power; he had given her freedom. He had given her ambition and the means to carry it out, and it was up to her to do with them what she could, to wield her sword in a manner of her own choosing.

"I will fight," Momohime said, smiling into the night breeze. "For as long as I can, for whomever I can." She gave Kongiku a pat. "Not for Inari-Myojin's sake, but for mine--to make Oboro the strongest it can be, to save men from monsters and from themselves. In this small way can I earn this strength I've been given. And maybe..." She took in a deep breath. "Maybe once I have atoned for Jinkuro's sins, I will remember my past. Or maybe one day you'll tell me."

Kongiku yawned and stretched. "Yes, you're right," said Momohime with a chuckle. "First, we should sleep." She scooped the fox up and started back down the mountain. "We have a long road ahead of us. Tomorrow, we head for Narukami." She picked up her pace. "Then I can share with Jinkuro _my_ homecoming."

That night, she dreamed of the voice rumbling in her ear, encouraging and bold. She had never slept better.


End file.
